Jake Gyllenhaal.

As a booming, disembodied voice told guests at Edible Schoolyard NYC’s inaugural spring benefit to take their seats for dinner Monday night, the Transom learned that honoree Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t have a favorite food—let alone a least favorite. “Seriously, it’s one of the areas of my life where I hold everything with love and no judgment,” said the actor. “Anything that is fresh from a garden is my favorite food.”

Mr. Gyllenhaal’s mother, screenwriter Naomi Foner Gyllenhaal, corroborated his story. Apparently he didn’t even object to broccoli as a kid: “He was very adventurous, and always, from the time he was really little, a spectacular cook,” she said proudly.

Even the pickiest eaters, however, couldn’t find much to complain about at the gala dinner, held in the Essex Market on the Lower East Side. Edible Schoolyard, which brings gardens and kitchen classrooms to New York schools, treated approximately 360 guests to multi-course meals designed and prepared by 20 of the city’s premier chefs.

The foodie dream team included David Chang, the chef and founder of Momofuku and the organization’s culinary chair, Michael Anthony of Gramercy Tavern, Joel Harrington of Red Rooster Harlem and Einat Admony of Balaboosta.

A further summons finally lured the crowd—which included Michael Bloomberg, Martha Stewart, actress Abigail Spencer and Jenna Lyons—into the dining space. The glamorous guests were a striking set against the rugged industrial room, formerly a meat market.

Table No. 9, where the Transom settled in next to Edible Schoolyard director Kate Brashares, was treated to a five-course feast crafted by Danny Bowien, the chef and co-founder of Mission Chinese Food. Mr. Bowien, a jovial young man with dyed green hair and tattooed arms, served slippery warm egg custard with Peking duck, green apple and citron tea to start. It only got better from there, as live spot prawns and sweetbreads, slow-cooked prime rib with hot mustard and marrow vinaigrette gave way to brûléed soy milk served with black vinegar and mitsuba.

An auction began around 9 p.m., led by James Niven of Sotheby’s. The bidding was at its fiercest when Lot 7, a private pig roast for 40, courtesy of award-winning chef and owner of The Spotted Pig April Bloomfield, flashed upon the screen. An elegant woman with bobbed blond hair whispered instructions in an attendant’s ear. Each time the lot seemed set to sell and was going once, going twice, the proxy would flash a white napkin and the battle was back on. The tenacious bidder, who proved to be fashion designer and board member Lela Rose, was prepared to pay $48,000 for the meal, but just as it seemed settled, Mr. Niven announced that if another guest was willing to part with $47,000, he could sell it to both Ms. Rose and the second bidder. (The idea was apparently Martha Stewart’s.)

Another bidder volunteered, and so two guests went home with tickets to another feast.

"How presumptuous! I never disclose who my songs are about," Ms. Swift remarked to Glamour in an interview promoting her new album, which features a single rumored to be about another ex, actor Jake Gyllenhaal. Asked how she deals with criticism, Ms. Swift remarked, "I just kind of live a life, and I let all the gossip live somewhere else."

"Somewhere else" can be purchased at record stores near you, or on iTunes!

Funke and Gyllenhaal in If There Is I Haven't Found It Yet.

The only thing anyone wonders, wants to read, or even needs to know about a pretentious, elliptical and utterly worthless load of tongue-tied gibberish imported from England by the Roundabout Theatre Co. called If There Is I Haven’t Found It Yet is the answer to a single question: How is Jake Gyllenhaal? In his New York stage debut, I am pleased to inform you, he acts the impossible role of a human zero in a profoundly professional manner. He has energy, presence and a theatrical dynamic—qualities as affecting onstage as they appear onscreen. He would be a whole lot better if we could actually hear what he’s saying, however. Since his most recent screen appearance as a bald L.A. ghetto cop in End of Watch, he’s grown a head full of what looks like dirty orange mattress ticking and knocked himself out perfecting a cockney accent, which he spits and mumbles incoherently through a scruffy beard like a face on a box of Smith Brothers cough drops. Of course, this might be a blessing in disguise. The play is so stupendously abysmal it doesn’t make any sense anyway.

The first thing you see upon entering the Laura Pels Theatre is the water. In the last performance I saw on that stage—a grim revival of John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger—they covered the proscenium with rotting food and garbage. This time they drown it in water. The rain comes down in buckets from the ceiling and splashes into a water tank the width of the stage, into which the four-member cast tosses props, furniture, used appliances and old shoes. If you are foolish enough to pay real money to suffer through 95 minutes of this stuff without intermission, do not sit in the first row without an umbrella. The water tank acts as a moat-like protection that separates the audience from the squalid flat of an ecology professor named George (played by the always-excellent Brían F. O’Byrne, of Doubt), his wife Fiona (Michelle Gomez) and their obese daughter Anna (Annie Funke). While George spouts academic babble from the new book he’s writing about the survival of mankind in an age of global disaster called How Green Are Your Tomatoes? and Annie sulks about reliving the abuse she gets at school from bullying classmates, the gloom is relieved temporarily by George’s brother Terry (Mr. Gyllenhaal), whose welcome presence offers hope that the play might be heading somewhere—that is, until he speaks. Then what comes out is a torrent of four-letter words that makes David Mamet seem like a model of grace, finesse and literary sophistication.

It is never clear what Terry does or where he’s been. He’s been abroad. Postcards have been received. Now he’s popped in for a visit, covered with tattoos and driving everyone nuts in a Faulknerian stream of jabberwocky punctuated with more F-words than any attempt to quote dialogue will allow. Clutching his overstretched, misshapen T-shirt, shifting on his feet and dancing around like a whirling dervish, he smokes a joint, climbs on top of the fridge for no reason and scratches himself in every body crevice. It’s a wild, exhausting performance that for all of its judo is not always convincing. Encouraged by the kind of loopy direction (by Michael Longhurst) that can only be described as spastic, Mr. Gyllenhaal’s fearless vitality is admirable, but he so completely throws himself into a repulsive character that it overwhelms him. The father rants on ad infinitum about polar ice caps, evolution and global warming. Fat Anna strips off her clothes (not a pretty sight), climbs into an overflowing bathtub, slashes her wrists and floods what’s left of the set in a tidal wave. Mr. Gyllenhall takes over the kitchen and tries his hand at making pastry. The direction is simplicity itself. Every scene ends by knocking another piece of the set into the water. Eventually the cast sloshes through the debris with water above their ankles and takes their curtain calls sopping wet.

The writer of this ludicrous trash is Nick Payne, a critical Flavor of the Avant-Garde Moment in London, praised by the London press for thumbing his nose at tradition as a rule-breaking revolutionary Turk, who encourages healthy wrath from theatergoers who still care about the kind of coherent, well-written plays Britain is famous for. If he has any talent beyond inciting protest, it is not the ability to hold an audience’s attention beyond a central conceit. One can only wonder why Roundabout chose to plague the undeserving New York audience with so much obtuse and juvenile irrelevance, or why, indeed, a movie star of Jake Gyllenhaal’s stature and popularity would choose to appear in it. He’s powerful enough to raise the backing for any play he chooses, and financially independent enough to wait until the right one comes along. What on earth, I kept asking myself, could have attracted him to this rubbish? Then I knew. During the final third of If There Is I Haven’t Found It Yet, he disappears from the watery stage and doesn’t appear again until the water washes it away. Some actors have all the luck.

rreed@observer.com

David Fincher and Jake Gyllenhaal (Getty Images)

We’re here to tell you just how to set your DVR before heading out for drinks or dinner–or just watching something better on TV!

David Fincher narrowly missed out on his third Best Director nomination at the Oscars in four years for The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo--but we'd argue his career renaissance began before his Oscar nominations, with 2007's Zodiac. This film, starring peak Jake Gyllenhaal and a pre-comeback Robert Downey, Jr. (2007!) is a document of single-minded obsession, the one trait uniting a mysterious serial killer and the journalist pursuing him. If this sounds familiar, it's because it's a rape-free synopsis of Dragon Tattoo--even the foggy, dark conditions are the same, as Zodiac swaps Sweden for San Francisco. It's also by far the best thing anyone involved has ever done! (Okay, Jake's not amazing, but by his standard--but he's pretty good.)

Set your DVR for 10:30pm on IFC.

Many of the stars on the Shanghai-bar cover have big superhero movies in the offing, from the front page (Ryan Reynolds as the Green Lantern, Anne Hathaway as Catwoman) to the inner gatefolds (Jennifer Lawrence in the new X-Men flick, Andrew Garfield in some movie about a spider, or something). The rest have been subject to huge publicity pushes, for various reasons (three Social Network stars and both 2011 Oscar hosts are here) - they're young, but not fresh faces. With the possible exception of "bartender" Robert Duvall - we just don't think he has staying power! - none of these performers seems likely to fade out anytime soon.  We miss Vanity Fair's weird old days, when they'd spotlight Wes Bentley and Monica Potter.

In full, the cover features: Ryan Reynolds, Jake Gyllenhaal, Anne Hathaway, James Franco, Jennifer Lawrence, Anthony Mackie, Olivia Wilde, Jesse Eisenberg, Mila Kunis, Robert Duvall, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Andrew Garfield, Rashida Jones, Garrett Hedlund, and Noomi Rapace. Large image (via VF) here.

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

Slideshow: What Twitter Taught Us: Taylor Swift Swaps Coffee Dates for Cosmo Dates.>>

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

Sex and the City 2

What's the story: Also known as Ishtar in Manolo Blahniks. Sex and the City 2 finds Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha (Sarah Jessica Parker, Kristin Davis, Cynthia Nixon and Kim Cattrall) headed to Abu Dhabi for a vacation. Because, sure. Needless to say, cocktails are imbibed, shoes are purchased and old friends—in the form of Carrie's ex-boyfriend, John Corbett's Aidan—show up to cause problems. Plus, Liza Minelli sings "Single Ladies." As you can guess, the reviews for Sex and the City 2 have been so vitriolic that you would think they were complaint letters to BP. Our Rex Reed begins his review thusly: "The only thing memorable about Sex and the City 2 is the number two part, which describes it totally, if you get my drift." Needless to say, he wasn't a fan.

Who should see it: Every woman in Manhattan.

The Price of Persia: The Sands of Time

What's the story: Jerry Bruckheimer is nothing if not resourceful. After building a blockbuster franchise out of a theme park—Pirate of the Caribbean, if you had forgotten—the über-producer heads to the world of video games for his latest hopeful smash, The Prince of Persia. Sadly, Johnny Depp isn't around this time; the swashbuckling hero is played by Jake Gyllenhaal and his 24-pack abs. Anyway, there is a dagger, and a princess, and lots of swordplay. If you're predisposed to this sort of thing, you'll like it; for the rest of us, it'll just be an excuse to find some air-conditioning.

Who should see it: Jack Sparrow.

Also opening this weekend: Jean Pierre-Jenaut (Amelie) brings his whimsy back to theaters with Micmacs; George A. Romero brings his zombies back to theaters with Survival of the Dead.

USER-FRIENDLINESS
Any idiot can use an iPhone—and we know, because we’ve seen it happen. BlackBerry gets a few points for most models’ physical QWERTY keyboards, which are less prone to typos than iPhone’s virtual keys; but Apple controls for this problem with text-correction software, and its completely intuitive touch-screen operation wins the category.
Advantage: iPhone

DURABILITY
iPhones crack when they’re dropped, unless you invest in bulky shells and cases; by contrast, as Wired’s GeekDad blog has pointed out, BlackBerrys still work after being run over by a full-size pickup truck.
Advantage: BlackBerry

BELLS AND WHISTLES
iPhone wins for both built-in features and apps. In addition to the 3GS’s built-in video camera, GPS, Wi-Fi, music and video player, YouTube connectivity and quick Internet browsing, the iTunes App store offers tens of thousands of applications. BlackBerry App World pales in comparison.
Advantage: iPhone

OPTIONS
BlackBerry’s online store currently offers 21 models, with a range of prices and features; iPhone buyers can pick only between 3G and 3GS. BlackBerry is also supported by 45 carriers in the U.S.—iPhone is currently only available on drop-heavy AT&T.
Advantage: BlackBerry

CELEBRITY USERS
As we know all too well, Tiger Woods’ iPhone has gotten him into trouble; but Uma Thurman, Ryan Reynolds, Nicole Kidman, Emma Watson and Michelle Williams have fared better with theirs. There doesn’t seem to be much family loyalty: Miley Cyrus is a devoted BlackBerry user, while brother Trace carries an iPhone; Jake Gyllenhaal uses an iPhone, while Maggie sports the BlackBerry; Beyoncé is a BlackBerry devotee, while sister Solange is an iPhone girl. Many celebs also prefer not to choose: Cameron Diaz, Taylor Swift, Lindsay Lohan, Adriana Lima and Vanessa Hudgens have all been spotted with both devices.
Advantage: Draw (If it seems like everyone in Hollywood, from Amanda Seyfried to Zac Efron, is glued to a BlackBerry, that’s because BlackBerrys are frequently given gratis to celebs; in the past five years, the phone has been on offer in gift bags at the Oscars, the AMAs, the Golden Globes and the Grammys. Apple’s sole spokesmodel is Justin Long.)

Up in the Air

What's the story: Whether you think he's another example of Hollywood nepotism, a slick and heartless huckster, a budding talent on the level of Billy Wilder or, a combination of all three, one thing is certain: Jason Reitman is a force to be reckoned with. Just two years after Juno became a cultural phenomenon and scored him a Best Director nomination, Mr. Reitman returns with Up in the Air, which has already been tapped as an Oscar front-runner. The National Board of Review named it the best film of the year, something both Slumdog Millionaire and No Country for Old Men—the last two Best Picture winners—can lay claim to winning as well. Based on the novel by Walter Kirn, Up in the Air stars George Clooney as Ryan Bingham, a corporate grim reaper who spends his life traveling around the country firing those less fortunate, until a newbie (New Moon's Anna Kendrick) threatens to make his job obsolete. Timeliness alert! The notices on Mr. Clooney have been effusive (what else is new?), but don't sleep on Ms. Kendrick or Vera Farmiga (as the woman he falls for along the way), both of whom could find themselves as Supporting Actress nominees. This is probably one you shouldn't miss.

Who should see it: Ivan Reitman.

Brothers

What's the story: Speaking of timeliness, say hello to Brothers! Jim Sheridan's remake of Susanne Bier's 2004 Danish film focuses on the war in Afghanistan and its impact on our troops. When Captain Sam Cahill (Tobey Maguire) is presumed dead, his ne'er-do-well ex-con brother, Tommy (Maguire doppelgänger Jake Gyllenhaal), becomes the man of the house, watching over Sam's wife (Natalie Portman) and two children. But when Sam turns up alive, you better believe differences occur. The ad campaign for Brothers paints it like a straight-up thriller, but don't believe everything you see on television. According to the middling reviews, Brothers is a lot more introverted than Lionsgate would have you believe.

Who should see it: Barack Obama.

Everybody's Fine

What's the story: The "dysfunctional family holiday film" subgenre gets another member with the release of Everybody's Fine, a remake of Guiseppe Tornatore's Stanno tutti Bene. Robert De Niro stars as a recent widower who visits his estranged children (Sam Rockwell, Drew Barrymore, Kate Beckinsale), hoping to reconnect. The reviews have been tepid at best and eviscerating at worst, so we'd advise you to tread lightly. Kudos, though, to whoever thought to cast Mr. Rockwell as Mr. De Niro's son. Seriously, that's genius.

Who should see it: Al Pacino.

Also opening this weekend: Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer add to their Oscar bona fides in The Last Station; Cheryl Hines directs Serious Moonlight, written by the late Adrienne Shelly; Matt Dillon and a host of B-listers plot an armored car heist in Armored; and something called Translymania comes out, too.

Brothers
Running time 110 minutes
Written by David Benioff
Directed by Jim Sheridan
Starring Natalie Portman, Jake Gyllenhaal, Tobey Maguire, Sam Shepard, Mare Winningham

Brothers is the latest in a long string of “back from the war and wish I was dead” movies, following on the heels of the still-fresh and far superior The Messenger. An unnecessary remake of a 2004 Danish film with the same title by Susanne Bier, it’s a Cain-and-Abel drama transferred to small-town America about a good brother named Sam (Tobey Maguire) who goes off to Afghanistan at the same time his bad brother, Tommy (Jake Gyllenhaal), returns home from prison. A soap opera ensues with more clichés than one movie can survive.

The two stars look so much alike that at times it’s hard to tell who’s who and which is which. You believe they are brothers, but the buck stops there. Sam is a Marine captain and the apple of his family’s eye. Clean-cut and dedicated to the military, he is headed for his fourth tour of duty in Afghanistan, leaving behind his wife, Grace (Natalie Portman); two daughters; and parents who worship him (Sam Shepard and the wonderful, wasted Mare Winningham). Tensions brew before Sam even boards the transport. Grace, who does not share her husband’s loyalty to a second-rate war nobody understands, is not happy to be left alone with no job and two kids to raise by herself, and everything is doubly daunting thanks to the gung-ho family patriarch, a former Marine who considers Sam a hero and regards Tommy, a tattooed slacker who has served time for armed robbery, as a good-for-nothing family disgrace. Grace, a former cheerleader with ample pluck, does her best to cope, but when Sam is seriously wounded in action and then reported dead, the volatile, irresponsible Tommy takes over his brother’s duties and becomes inappropriately romantically attracted to his sister-in-law. What the Cahill family doesn’t know is that Sam is not dead, just captured and tortured by the Taliban along with a fellow Marine from his hometown. While Sam is starved and buried in a hole, Tommy is painting Grace’s kitchen. Forced at gunpoint to kill his cellmate under threat of death, Sam sacrifices his friend’s life for his own—a decision from which he never recovers. By the time he gets rescued and sent home to his shocked family, he’s so psychologically damaged and physically emaciated that now it is his turn to seek the love, acceptance and forgiveness brother Tommy used to crave. Overwhelmed by guilt, shame and paranoia fueled by the suspicion that Grace and his brother became lovers while he was gone, Sam inspires fear and anxiety in the whole family, and all we can do is wait for events to build to a tragic, near-fatal and inevitable conclusion.

The venerable Irish director Jim (My Left Foot, In the Name of the Father, In America) Sheridan’s talent for creating tight, emotional films filled with domestic moral dilemmas seems to have curdled. Brothers addresses the effects of a pointless and unpopular war on the sanity of the men who are fighting it, and on the stunned and confused families who are waiting for them to come home, but there isn’t much psychology in it, and very little contextual drama to unravel. Natalie Portman glows. Sam Shepard glowers and rants. During Sam’s absence from home, the brothers, for all intents and purposes, switch identities. This leaves Mr. Gyllenhaal too abruptly charming as Tommy, and the miscast Mr. Maguire, so wimpy and genteel throughout as Sam, suddenly becomes consumed with such uncontrollable rage and jealousy that he seems subject to fits. These changes are too swift and alarming to be believable. The contrived script by David Benioff fails to strongly develop character, forcing the cast to do more reacting than acting in a stale movie that is less drama than melodrama.

rreed@observer.com